What hurts the most
by Edward slept with Poison Akii
Summary: What starts out as Max's tale of a sleepover dredges up some memories that nobody really wants to remember.
1. Chapter 1

What hurts the most.

I looked into the mirror and prepared myself for the worst. Surprisingly, nothing much is noticeable. Aside from being starving and dead on my feet, both of which I was used to, the only real damage was a small bruise-like thing on my head, above my right eye. The red on my left cheek seemed to be controlled by the showers smothering water, enough to where it at least looked natural. The bruise I could easily lie about. The only thing I had to worry about was Fang. He would notice the difference, somehow.

I raked a brush through my hair in heavy, rough strokes as I fought the mess. I was still picking out little bits of almonds and poptarts. Ew… That is gross. Picking little bits of wet, gooey poptarts out of your hair is not exactly fun.

"Damn it," I muttered out loud, thankful I was home alone. I wasn't really supposed to go to Jane's party, and when I finally got permission to go, it was _not _supposed to be this bad. Jane's normally a good girl, so I thought I'd be safe. I mean, no one was drunk and no one was high, although the controversy with Rachel might make that last one a matter of opinion.

"I thought you were going to quit cussing," a low voice said behind me.

Fang. Why was he here? I was home alone, or supposed to be anyway. I needed to have these few hours to sleep and make myself presentable. I was still picking poptart out of my hair.

"Only in front of the little kids. It's just you, and you cuss much more than I do. Why are you here?" I asked, continuing to pick the almonds out of my messy hair. I'd given up the brush and settled for ransacking my soaking hair with my fingers.

A set of warm hands held my neck. "Want some help?" he asked, toying with my hair in his fingers. I felt this question was not important enough to require an answer. He started gently pulling at the almonds and bits of poptart. "What the hell happened to _you _last night?"

"It's kind of a long story," I muttered.

"I've got nothing but time," he countered, gently holding my shoulders and leading me toward my bed. He flopped gently down, with his legs wide open, and pulled me in between his legs. He was breathing calmly, comforting me, making me feel at home within his arms. He continued to fix my hair.

"Well, first I have to reiterate what you already know. I was at Jane's sleepover last night."

"Who all was there?"

"Me, Nudge, Jane, Rachel, Clio and Caroline." Fang made corresponding ooh-s and ahh-s based on the hotness of each girl. I ignored his sexism. It was just a guy thing. "We just kind of hung out, at first. You know, standard party stuff; pizza, presents, cake. We just kind of hung out, did random stuff. We sang the Wonder Pets theme song, and then we played Telephone. Jane's mom showed up, and we got in some shit for -"

"Telephone? That stupid game where you pass a sentence around the circle? Aren't you guys a little old for that?"

"You didn't let me finish. Jane's mom threw a fit when she heard we were passing around sentences about baskets and bastards. We went down to Jane's basement, to 'sleep.'" I made little air quotes around 'sleep.'

Fang continued to fix my hair. He produced a comb, (I had no idea how he managed to produce things like that) and began to comb my hair in sections. He kept a steady rhythm with the comb, following the rhythm with my breathing, comforting me. I continued.

"Then we did manicures." I watched Fang's eyes fall to my newly manicured nails, purple and black alternating, which were already starting to chip. He shook his head in playful shame. "Well, we tried to, anyway. It was alright until Rachel started sniffing the nail polish remover. Then they started passing it around."

I sensed the disapproval from Fang when his comb froze in place, mid stroke. He still had this thing about protecting me, although I continued to remind him I was more than capable to deal with whatever happened to me. He didn't like the thought of his pure little Max being around anything dangerous. His eyes got darker and darker, turning into an angry sky about to produce a tornado. His control was being tested, and I could see it in his eyes.

I reached around, gentle but firm, and grabbed both of his hands. I pulled his hands into mine and held them, hard. "Breathe," I ordered. He did as I asked him, breathing in a controlled pattern that told me I was helping. "I'm not stupid, Fang. I really thought you knew that. It's not that amazing."

"Don't say that," he argued. "The point is, you did it, and it sure as hell wasn't easy."

I allowed myself a moment to process this. Of course, this would hit closer to home with him than someone else. I still have nightmares about that night a few years ago when he came home high. I squeezed his hands harder. "Don't think about it. Remembering is what hurts the most."

I twisted around in his arms a bit, letting my face look into his. His eyes looked frozen and hard. I was afraid for him, having to see the worry and hell behind his black pupils. "You know," he started, "that night, I proved to myself that I'll never be half as strong as you are. All you had to do was say no, and I can't even do that. I still feel awful about that night. I'm so, so sorry about that. Still."

I opened my mouth to stop him, but stopped when I realized I had no reason to. That night was awful, awful for me, but even worse for him. I remembered a little tidbit I'd learned online somewhere; 90% of one-on-one rapes happen when you know the rapist. I shuddered within his arms, and he squeezed me harder.

"Max, I was such a dick then. I can't ever forgive myself for doing something like that to you. I-" I silenced him with a finger to his lips.

"Don't. Just… don't. I can handle what I've been through. I just can't handle seeing you in so much pain. It hurts to watch."

"Max, I just hate knowing what my weakness has put you through. I can't bear anything that hurts you." I felt the tears running down my cheeks for the first time in years, and I didn't fight them. I felt Fang's calluses as he tucked my head away into his shoulder.

Suddenly, the rest of the world didn't matter. The world beneath us seemed to simply stop. It was me, and it was him. That was it. All I could focus on was keeping my heart inside of my chest. I clutched my hands to the back of his neck, needing the realness of something to keep me alive.

And when I did hear the footsteps in the hall, I was still crying and Fang was still embracing, but I didn't care. I recognized the carefully measured footsteps, and I think Fang did too. When I finally did see Iggy watching in the doorway, I was ready.

Iggy's sightless eyes seemed understanding. His baby-blue eyes were glassed over and misted, almost lost. "Iggy, it's alright. Come over here and join the tear fest," I called, removing my face from Fang's soaked shirt.

Iggy sat down a crossed from Fang. I took a moment to be thankful that Iggy was blind, and therefore oblivious to the fact that I must look like I walked out of a poptart war zone. However, Iggy wasn't _dense, _so it wasn't long before he picked up something was wrong.

Iggy opened his mouth to say something, but Fang beat him to it. "Max said no," he stated simply.

Iggy understood. His eyes were once again a key way to tell his thoughts. They changed so fast if I'd blinked I would've missed them; confusion, understanding, sympathy, pain, and pride. I was glad when his face stopped in one gigantic grin.

I pale sensitive hand fell on my shoulder. "I'm glad you did. I don't know what I'd do if I had to put up with two people trying to live down drug incidents."

I laughed a half-baked laugh. "I seem to recall a certain someone who showed up home when it was just me and Fang home with very little clothes on," I paused to cough the word 'none', "while making out with a garden hose."

Fang smiled. "That was purposeful," Iggy argued. I still wasn't sure how being purposeful made getting high any more legal. "I didn't do anything I'm not proud of."

I giggled. "So if I were to show your girlfriend Jen those pictures, you're telling me she'd still go out with you?"

He shrugged. "Maybe she likes me that way," he pointed out. I rolled my eyes.

Another hand fell on my other shoulder. "I'm glad you're strong enough, Max," Fang said.

I sighed happily. We hadn't ever really talked about what had happened, and for once, I was really glad we did.


	2. Authors Note

A/N: Someone asked about her bruise. I didn't get to talk about it, but she was hit with one of those little horse heads one a stick (the stick end) by Nudge right under her left eye. It occurred during a time they were playing house, and they didn't have a car, so Nudge and Max were trying to use the pony at once, but Nudge tried to pull it out from under Max, and when her weight came off it swung up and hit her in the eye.


End file.
